


you're not quite human enough for me

by aeionix



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: I just wanted to write about madara and his psyche, M/M, all relationships other than mama/kanata are implied, ft appearances by lots of people, including ryuseitai+leo+track club+akatsuki+trickstar+eichi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-05-31 16:22:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19429669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeionix/pseuds/aeionix
Summary: (someone asks, “what are you to me?”madara whispers, “anything you want me to be.”)He realises now that he was never meant to be a hero. The gods might be long dead but their mischief endures all the same, and Madara is a spot wiped away. Nothing he leaves behind can’t be erased, so if this is the role he was destined to play then he’ll at least decide for himself how he exits.But still the princess clasps the hero’s hand and slays the mighty dragon, and Madara is left with nothing but a sword through his hollow heart and the knowledge that he’s never managed to save a single thing./ madara-focus introspective fic





	1. i have never been a lonely god

Once upon a time, Mikejima Madara fell in love with a boy playing at god.

There had been no earth-shattering revelation to it, no charmed realisations. Madara had simply bled his heart into another’s, drop by drop, until what he carried was only the hollow burning core of things. But that didn’t matter, because Kanata was the only one in that whole damned place that was worth anything at all, and if Madara could replace whatever faux-divine heart Kanata held with the human skins of his own, then he would.

It hadn’t been easy to lay the pieces of humanity sheet-by-sheet over Kanata’s sacred soul, but a single child could be overlooked enough to sneak in sections of the outside world. Madara gathered these things, tearing glossy pages from magazines and memorising full performance routines, and displayed them in turn to Kanata.

And— maybe his actions hadn’t been entirely innocent. Maybe Madara had carefully curated the ideal specimens of society, only those shining idols and righteous heroes and invincible bonds of friendship. Maybe he had only deliberate facets of perfection to show, as if anything less would crack Kanata’s celestial heart. Maybe he hadn’t, even then, seen Kanata as fully human.

He knows his mistakes now, but still he thinks that it probably couldn’t have been helped. From the very beginning, Madara had never been in a position to rescue Kanata from anything. After all, he’d believed in it once, too. His parents had been so devout, so sincere, that when they had said to him, “Kanata-sama is our god,” he had nodded and accepted it as a simple reality of the world. Just as the sun rose from the east and fish ruled the seas, Kanata was their family’s sole deity.

So when one of the Mikejima’s own collapsed one day, Madara’s immediate instinct was to seek the help of the divine. With that childish tendency towards playing the hero in his left hand and tear-stained promises by bedside in his right, Madara had ventured forth into the one climacteric of his life.

Of course, as it eventually turned out, Kanata was far from a god and sickness wasn’t something that could be prayed away, so Madara returned only with empty hands and a memory of green, green eyes.

* * *

“Humans really like making their own gods of things!” he would laugh to Kanata, a long time later.

“Shut up, 「rogue」.” Kanata would answer, and turn to face the sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • mama shot to the top of my favs so quickly I physically got whiplash anyway I have three best boys now yeehaw  
> • treat this first chapter like a prologue. it's by far the shortest one in the entire fic.  
> • “i have never been a lonely god” is from the poem "have never been a lonely god" by paige ackerson-kiely in “my love is a dead arctic explorer”


	2. i ask only for eternity

There is a cat that makes its home in the dark corners of the archery hall. Leo had showed it to him with sparkling eyes, cradling soft grey fur in his arms, and Madara couldn’t bring himself to tell the boy that he’d never been fond of the creatures. Maybe it’s the way they look at him with those steady unblinking eyes, or their graceful near-silent movements, or just a sort of innate impression. In any case, Madara straps on a boisterous smile and ever so _carefully_ allows that it’s okay, Leo-san, I don’t need to hold her, she seems so much happier in your arms anyway!

Just because he keeps his distance from the things, though, doesn’t mean he condones the sort of instinctual violence that hoodlums and wannabe tough guys seem to apply on reflex to the poor creatures. Or on any number of the fragile, precious little ones that roam the academy.

Maybe he’s been away for too long, he muses. The worms have begun emerging from the ground, wriggling in congregated masses on damp soil. Arrogant. Pretending they’re anything more than parasites feeding on the leftovers of greater beings.

He hears the regular _thump_ of arrows hitting wooden target boards and takes a breath, then bursts into the archery hall with as much dramatic pomp as he can stretch over seething anger.

“Yahoooooo, Keito-san!” He booms, “I hear there’re some pests to squash☆!”

Keito, for his part, remains mostly unfazed, resignation writing itself onto the deep lines of his scowl as he looks towards the entrance. “Mikejima,” he sighs heavily, “of course.”

“Hm, were you expecting me, Keito-san? Hahaha! I’m losing my touch!”

“No,” Keito seems to be made entirely of tired exhales today, which is concerning if only because Madara needs him to be something _other_ than long-suffering right now if this rolling, boiling fury is to be plugged, “But I had a feeling something troublesome was coming my way. Shame on me for wanting some private time off, I suppose. Out with it.”

Madara beams, “Have you noticed an… infestation lately? Little insects crawling out of the woodwork everywhere, that sort of thing?”

“I have no time for your word games right now, Mikejima.” Keito snaps. But he sets down his bow and runs a hand through sweaty hair, “What is this about?”

Noticing the shift in atmosphere, Madara sheds his cheerful mask in an instant, “A group of them put Leo-san in the hospital,” he says grimly, “For saving a cat. When I found him, he was bleeding on the ground and composing with his own blood. I’m going to purge the stains that have been so full of themselves recently, running around like they own this place. Come with me.”

A moment of silence stretches out between them. Madara fixes his eyes firmly on Keito, watches as his scowl deepens until it seems almost carved onto his face, and waits for what he knows will be the answer—

“That’s hardly even a request,” Keito says finally, frowning still, but there’s a hard set to his jaw that tells Madara he’s won. Madara laughs in response, big and hearty and dark, dark, _dark_.

“Hahaha! That’s because I knew Keito-san would agree anyway! Mama always knows, after all☆!” Madara bares his teeth. Keito pauses, before he laughs lowly despite himself.

“Alright.” He says finally, drawing a breath, “I’ll give you that things have been getting rather distasteful lately. You have the most impeccable timing as always, Mikejima. I was just about ready to do it myself. I’ve never been fond of those delinquents, and Tsukinaga was really the only one keeping me from losing my temper at them anyway.”

“Leo-san is a good child! Obviously, the ones that would hurt such a good child would be depraved villains, hm? Hahaha!”

Madara bounds forward, clapping Keito on the shoulder, and winks at him conspiratorially, “And bad guys— right,” he feels himself smile a wild thing, all sharp teeth and _promise_ , “they need to be purged☆.”

* * *

In the spring of his first year, Mikejima Madara entered Yumenosaki Academy with no dreams, no goals, and only a sliver of long blue hair to chase.

Things had been better between them, then. Not anywhere close to good, but _better_. He’d been able to pull Kanata into great warm hugs and lace his fingers through ocean strands. They could talk, as if they were actually friends. Kanata could look at him without seeing only a traitor, an infidel, a rogue.

It didn’t last long, but for he who had grasped at every last sinking vestige of affection, it had been enough.

Madara wonders now if he’d been the only one who had ever thought their friendship precious. If he had always only been a child chasing after what was never meant to be. He’d certainly made that mistake before. But still, he had once thought, in fact truly believed, that somehow Kanata ~~coul d pos s ibl y~~

~~l ove hi~~

~~m bac k~~  
.

No.

Madara looks into the mirrors of his own ego, twisted and bent into unnatural shapes, and laughs. His form reflected in them flickers, shrinks into the delicate shape of a child, engorged into the feral posture of

> _“he’s a monster I carelessly failed to kill.”_

a beast. It’s been so long since he’s been able to trace his own silhouette from memory. The colours he wear slide angrily from one to the next, as if irritated by their own indecisiveness. As he looks on, the him within the mirror is still

> _“an ancient giant who shouldn’t be touched.”_

laughing.

(“liar,” kanata says, “if you only came here to follow me, then why were the things you gave me back then already so full of 「idols」?”

he opens his mouth to answer, but no sounds emerge. madara can only look on in silence.

and deep inside of him, another thing breaks.)

* * *

> “… Will you be quite alright, Mikejima-kun?”
> 
> Rei stands leaning languid against the school gates, parasol in hand. Apart from him, no one else has come to send Madara off— well, he hadn’t really expected any of them to anyway.
> 
> “Hahaha! What are you saying, Rei-san? Are you worried about me☆?”
> 
> Rei raises an elegant eyebrow, “I see you’re the same as always… how long has it been since I’ve had that much energy, hm?”
> 
> “Nonsense, Rei-san! I seem to recall you plenty energetic yourself when it comes down to it.”
> 
> “Haha… you might be right.” Rei shrugs, movements slow, “In any case… good luck, Mikejima-kun. Sorry to have to push this onto you.”
> 
> Madara throws him a wink, “Better me than you. I don’t have a tight schedule right now. Besides, all your kids must be missing you. Hasn’t your little brother been going through a rebellious period? Hahaha!” And Madara might have gone a little too deep, because Rei winces particularly at that.
> 
> “… You really don’t change.” Rei sighs in the end, “Have a safe trip.”
> 
> “Of course!☆ See you soon, Rei-san~”
> 
> “See you soon, Mikejima-kun.”

* * *

The things he find precious only accumulate. When before he had but a fistful of treasures to protect, he looks down now at the sudden straining of his arms to discover a whole delicate hoard, all so precariously balanced, (all so very important).

And it’s— scary. Terrifying. Madara feels it, deep into the _marrow_ of his bones. It’s suffocating. He chokes on the knowledge that they’re there. Fragile. They pile onto his chest. Make it hard to breathe. Bury him beneath their importance. The weight of it almost unbearable. Nearly overwhelming. (But more than anything, it’s the knowledge that he cannot protect it all that ruins him.)

_I love humans._

They bubble about him in careless proximity, but Madara knows that even the briefest touch can break. All around him, he is already surrounded by the wrecked remains of what once was— a place he’d once regarded as _home_ , a sister who’d once thought him a _hero_ , people who’d once considered him a _friend_.

He has none of that now but new loved ones to shelter, to cherish, (to break). And if Madara knows nothing else at all, he does know this:

He will not make the same mistakes.

* * *

> “I don’t care,” Madara says, “Hero or villain or _whatever_ , I don’t care. None of that matters anyway. We’re all the same in the end.”
> 
> “I believe a certain someone would beg to differ,” Eichi comments mildly. “It’s, I think, ah, Yumenosaki’s Hero of Justice-san, is it?”
> 
> “Shut up and listen ☆,” Madara replies instantly, cheerfully, “You sure are mouthy for someone being threatened. I’m saying that I don’t care. All that’s important is that all those good children remain safe. No tainting, no breaking, no pulling any of your tricks. I made the mistake of letting you and your little group do as you liked in the past, well, that’s over now. You’ve got your throne, Eichi-san. Now touch any of mine and I will raze your kingdom to the ground.”
> 
> “… Point taken,” Eichi relents finally, “Mikejima-kun, I have no intention of shedding even more bloodshed, believe me.”
> 
> “Right!” Madara pulls away finally, satisfied, “Hm, in any case, the next head on the guillotine is yours. So watch your step, Emperor-san☆! Hahaha!”

* * *

He calls them his kids. They allow him his eccentricities without much protest and— well, they’re good children, after all. Even if Madara is an awful, absent captain, coming and going on the whims of the wind, they don’t blame him for it.

He can’t help but feel a little guilty, though, when he returns to the track club to find an unfamiliar child doing stretches with Arashi and Adonis. Madara hadn’t known they’d gotten a new member, a first-year by the looks of things, and, perhaps more incriminatingly, he can’t even place the boy’s identity.

It’s not an issue with his memory. He’s got a mind for names and faces and just about anything. So that leaves only one explanation, and it’s that Madara’s missed out on a whole _year_ of new students coming in.

… Well, of course, that won’t do.

Madara bursts in on them mid-conversation, lifts the kid sky-high, laughing all the while. The child is tiny, smaller than almost any other first-year Madara’s ever seen. Is this normal nowadays? Is he eating right? Maybe it’s a genetic thing? And, ah, Madara might have _slightly_ misjudged the appropriate strength with which to takai~☆ the small boy and the extra momentum ends up carrying him higher than expected— but still, it’s alright. Even this much remains securely within his expectations.

“Captain. Stop.” Adonis says, looking worried past his poker face, “You’re scaring Tenma.”

“Hahaha!” Madara slams down on the bit of him that jolts at that, _he doesn’t mean it like that, he doesn’t mean it like that_ , “Don’t be scared, don’t be scared! Peek-a-boo~☆!”

The child, Tenma is it?, makes a sound somewhere between a gasp and a warble, and it’s frightened enough that Madara decides to let him off for now, instead turning his attentions to Adonis.

And— oh, he’s missed this. It’s not as if he’s been able to just… hug others when he’s been overseas. It’s been months since Madara last smothered himself in the warmth of another person. He’s met more people than he’s ever wanted to from more walks of life than he knew existed, but the aura that’s expected from his kind doesn’t exactly lend itself to acting silly.

Madara resists the burning urge to hold onto Adonis for a little while longer, to push just that much further, feel a shred more warm. Instead, he laughs and lets go. Lets Arashi berate him playfully. Feels his chest warm at the sight of his two juniors, once so young themselves, now doting on a child of their own.

“Since _someone_ abandoned their kids, we’ve really had a hard time, you see?” Arashi grouses cheekily, “Think long and hard about what you’ve done, Mama.”

The thought that, even after all this time and all the things he’s done, he still has the right to be a mama has Madara nearly in tears. Arashi and Adonis and Tenma Mitsuru, he loves them all. He feels it almost fervently in the embers of his heart, he’s missed this, missed _them_.

… How terrifying.

Playing it off like he always does, his chest tightens when Arashi snaps, “You’re always off at god-knows-where, and this time you’re going to be gone for two weeks! Where are you going and what are you doing?”

_I want to know myself_ , Madara thinks dryly. Still, the thought that Arashi cares swells the fondness in him once more. But unfortunately, no matter how darling his children, this is something far beyond what they should know. So he escapes. As he always does, Madara strong-arms his way through unpleasantries and rapidly absconds, with all his secrets still tightly wound under his ribcage.

“Farewell, my children!” He calls, already halfway down the field, “Sorry for the fuss!☆” Behind him the sound of conversation picks up once more, tinged with a breath of exasperation.

(When Madara reaches the school gates he pauses. After a moment of thought, he presents the school one additional farewell.

“Sorry for the fuss.”)

Later, as he’s unlocking his luggage on the carpet floor of a wonderful hotel room, Madara thinks back to the weight of Mitsuru in his hands, the warmth of Adonis in his arms, the wonder of Arashi’s kindness, and holds the memories close to his heart.

* * *

The first thing Madara thinks when he sees his new class roster for the first time is:

Oh no.

The second thing:

Did Sagami-sensei throw this together half-asleep?

The third only comes when he looks at the namelist for 3B and it occurs to him that perhaps there’s just no good way to arrange their year anymore, and this is simply a case of pitting one bad thing against another. It goes something like this:

Is there a single one of us that hasn’t yet been brought to his own tragic ruination?

and

… Well in any case, this is going to be interesting ☆

* * *

Leo is dazedly wandering the quiet streets when Madara finally finds him.

He looks a mess. It’s not unexpected, given what Madara’s managed to glean from the tatters of information he’d coalesced, but it’s such a far cry from the Leo he knows that he finds himself growing even more concerned.

Madara considers for a moment simply calling out to him, but Leo looks so singularly out of it that he scratches that idea almost instantly. Instead, he braces himself and relies on the one thing that is entrenched so deeply into the very fiber of Leo’s being that it has never once let him down.

“Hahahahaha!” Madara thunders, and although he’s been home for days by that point, “I’m back, Japan!”

Just as expected, Leo startles out of his somber state. “Wha- huh? What?”

“Ooh?!” Madara beams. As if only just noticing Leo’s presence, he makes an abrupt beeline towards him, “I thought I recognized that voice! Leo-saaaaaan! ☆”

_Thank god_ , Madara thinks as he makes a show of surprised elation, _at the very least, Leo-san hasn’t yet tarnished his sense for sound_.

“… Mama.” Leo breathes, “Whoa, Mama! Mikejimama! It’s me, it’s Leo! You remember me?!”

Silly child.

“Hahaha!” Madara guffaws, “Don't be so foolish, you naughty boy, you! How could I forget!? C'mere, c'mere! Give me a hug! Ah, it really is you, Leo-san! It's been so long! You smell like Japan — I really have come back to my homeland! Hahahaha!”

He gathers Leo in a tight embrace. Heaven knows the poor boy seems to need it. “Actually, you look pretty rough!” Madara laughs, “What happened? How are you doing?”

“Uh…” Seeing Leo avoid the question all shifty-eyed would be worrying if Madara didn’t already know Leo’s own form of pride, “This and that happened, and I got a little lost, I guess… I’m glad I found somebody I know, though! The heavens haven’t given up on me yet! Wahahaha!☆”

“Don’t be a fool,” Madara replies brightly, “Even if the gods gave up on you, I would never abandon you, Leo-saaaan!” He means it, too. For as long as Leo will have Madara by his side.

Just when did Tsukinaga Leo become so important to him? A strange, alien boy who _shines_ in the pits of humanity. Brilliant and broken and so extraordinary that his genius isolated him from the rest of reality. (If there is one single thing Eichi’s done that Madara is grateful for, it’s that he, in all of his infinite mercy, had spared Leo the same condemnation of the Five Oddballs.)

This sweet, kind, creative child who graciously provides to the world the same magnificence inside of him, packaged neatly into a melody and given for free.

All at once, a spiteful anger gathers in Madara and he decides then and there— if this place is one that would hurt an innocent like Leo, then maybe it’s just his due diligence to spirit them away.

“Well!” Madara says, finality in his voice, “I've got some business that's really been dragging out, you see. I've stopped by here to give a report on my progress, but I've got to depart again! Hahaha!”

The implication is clear:

Come with me.

Leo protests it, as is to be expected, but Madara doesn’t allow him more than two retorts before he’s whirlwind-ed them both away. It’ll do them both some good to be far from this place.

* * *

“Puka, puka ♪” Kanata bubbles. Next to him, Chiaki laughs and says, in a voice like the sun, “Excellent! Then we’ll do that!”

Madara watches from across the room. The colour he wears is still too new to be comfortable in, but that’s neither really here nor there.

_He’s_ neither really here nor there, honestly. Madara is helpless to admit that, even for him, switching identities so rapidly does make him feel a little lost in his own skin.

“—Mikejima-san?”

Madara blinks at Chiaki, slightly caught off-guard. “Hm? What is it, Chiaki-san?”

“You’re not 「listening」.” Kanata says with a pout.

“What do you think, Mikejima-san?” Chiaki repeats.

… Oops. Deflection time, deflection time.

“Hahaha! Anything’s fine! Mama will obediently listen to his children, after all☆!” Judging by the looks both of them give him, this doesn’t go over quite well.

“A leader,” Chiaki begins with aplomb, “always listens to the opinions of his teammates! That is the mark of a true hero! Right, Kanata? ♪”

“Indeed, Chiaki ♪ Only a 「rogue」would charge forward recklessly by himself.”

“Hahaha!” Madara says, deliberately obtuse, “But I’m standing still right now?”

“That is not what I 「meant」,” Kanata puffs out one cheek, “Chiaki, isn’t he 「annoying」?”

“Don’t be like that, Kanata! Mikejima-san is not annoying at all!”

“Hahaha! Heroes shouldn’t lie, Chiaki-san!” “Heroes don’t 「lie」, Chiaki.”

“You guys…!”

* * *

In the spring of his third-year, Mikejima Madara enters Yumenosaki Academy with no unit, no war to fight, and only the memory of things that once were.

Time passes, as time generally does, and Madara only laments that he’s not a preternatural creature displaced from the linear clench of its grip. He wonders if Rei ages. The man’s certainly seemed to, mentally-wise at the very least, but it’s not out of the question that a vampire would be excused from such mortal obligations.

Madara, though, is plainly no such entity, and humans like him simply do as humans must. So he allows himself to be carried by the lashing currents of life and floats on its tides until even his body has been tinted a deep indigo under the cloudless sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't worry, it only gets worse from here. the main ryuseitai bits are all in the third part.
> 
> • track club scene is from madara's 'mother earth' substory  
> • meeting with leo is from madara's 'return of mr. festival' substory  
> • the 'monster' and 'giant' quotes are from concerto, chapter 3  
> • "I love humans" is also technically from one of the stories where madara goes something like, "I love humans. so I want to remain human."
> 
> • madara not liking cats because they remind him of himself but keeping it a secret is a big hc of mine!!  
> • here's a fun drinking game: drink every time there's a ☆ in someone's dialogue (don't do it you'll die)


	3. falling for the full moon, yearning for the deep sea

Morisawa Chiaki is— blindingly red. So bright that he burns at the tips, a supernova in the making. He goes about life with such searing enthusiasm and fervid optimism that even the stars scorch and lay deferential at his feet. Even Madara, who knows first-hand the intensity of Chiaki’s soul, finds it sometimes difficult to fathom a brilliance of that magnitude.

Chiaki, however, is not a genius. Not in the sense that Leo, or Rei or Wataru or any of the Oddballs, or even some of the “born idols” of the lower years, are. He is a decidedly normal person, through and through. Handsomer than most, yes, but so are the large majority of the academy's cohort. Chiaki is not naturally made for their profession.

Shinkai Kanata— _he_ is a genius. The exact opposite of Chiaki, blue to his very core, a child of the ocean and beloved of the heavens. And when he stands on the stage, swaying gently from side to side, there is something distinctly otherworldly about him. Like translucent tendrils reaching from the sea and, before anyone knows it, they’re drowning in the deep dark depths of his eyes.

That is why Kanata was marked so cruelly back then by Eichi as an _outcast_ , an Oddball. And then he was grounded in a flash, magic flailing uselessly on dry land. So maybe Eichi is a genius too, if he can crush someone like Kanata with almost nothing more than a bland wave of his hands.

Madara— he’s been _called_ a genius. He’s been called a great many things. A monster. A legendary beast. A 「rogue」. People have looked at him, some parts awe and some parts resentment, and said things like, “Of course Mikejima could do it.” Or, sometimes, they lay crumpled in trembling heaps and screamed incomprehensible things, and Madara would crush even their voice out of them.

The more of these ‘geniuses’ that he meets, though, the more Madara becomes convinced that nothing like that actually exists.

He’s been treated like an ‘individual that can do anything’ almost all his life, but not even he has that sort of power. People simply gave them names and stories and then decided on their own that creatures of mythical strength stalked their school corridors. Maybe it’s because he’s considered ‘one of the elite’ that Madara looks on the others of his kind and thinks _… What, everyone’s just a regular kid_.

Monsters and gods alike— nothing like that exists. Only lonely people and the echoes of their cries.

* * *

“So you’re all alone now? Mikejima.”

“Hm?” Madara beams at him, “What do you mean, Kuro-san? Mama is always surrounded by people☆”

“Don’t pretend you don’t get it.” Kuro grumbles, hands working through the fabric lying on his lap, “Serves ya right anyway. Always goin’ off and disappearin’ somewhere.”

“Hahaha!” They’re sitting on the floor of the dojo. For an official clubroom, it’s almost depressingly empty, but Kuro doesn’t seem to mind that he and Madara are the only ones there. Rather, Madara gets the impression that Kuro might prefer to be alone. Mostly because Kuro had taken one look at him standing brightly at the entrance of the dojo that afternoon and groaned.

“… Didn’t think it’d actually happen,” Kuro continues, now muttering lowly, “You gettin’ kicked out.”

Madara doesn’t bother correcting him— what’s the real difference between getting thrown out and throwing himself out anyway?— and just laughs instead. “Probably because I was always going off and disappearing somewhere!”

“This ain’t the time for jokes.”

Well.

“… Kuro-san,” Madara says after a moment, narrowing his eyes, “This isn’t your concern anyway?”

Kuro finally looks up at that, Madara meets his gaze squarely. They stay that way for what feels like an moment of lost time, then Kuro looks back down at his work.

“Sure,” He says as Madara eyes him, voice gruff, “Ain’t got nothin’ to do with me. Nothin’ to do with anyone but yourself. That’s how a solo unit is, huh?” His hands flatten the finished pieces on his lap — three swaths of cloth, purple-red-green, each emblazoned with a golden rendition of Akatsuki’s crescent moon.

* * *

Madara is burning.

The fiery _whatevers_ eat at his soul, char at the corners of his remaining identity. He doesn’t blaze the same way that Chiaki does, doesn’t shine in tune with others. Madara is a star flaming so bright that it leaves a path of ashes in its wake. Everywhere he goes the burnt things pile up, and Madara can only watch from beyond a sea of fire as his victims grow and grow and grow.

So he quarantines himself. Picks a spot in the vast expanse of space to settle down and makes his home in the vacuum void of a black hole. Nothing comes _close_ to close. He watches everyone else spin in tandem with each other from his place in the universe andー it’s okay. Everything is okay. Madara is okay. Empty hands and empty hearts and all.

> “You’re always trying to have me「forgive」 you,” Kanata says. Madara looks, _really_ looks, at him, and sees only firm green eyes on a person he almost doesn’t recognise, “But isn’t that a little「unfair」? When you haven’t even forgiven yourself.”

* * *

Seeing her here is something that even Madara doesn’t anticipate, but the instant that he does the gears in his mind begin to turn. He can almost hear the whir of their mechanisms as he looks on, script piecing itself together line by line.

_Transfer student. Anzu-san. Trickstar. Producer. Revolution. Victory. Stagnation. fine. Akatsuki. Trickstar. Student council. Anzu-san. Important. Memories. Kind. Use. Destroy._

Amalgamating into one single realisation:

_This is my chance._

It would be a lie to say that he doesn’t feel a shred of guilt, but Madara grips the finished manuscript in his hands with that thought pounding through his head and suddenly it all feels like something that he _has_ to write into reality. Choice doesn’t even come into it; the moment he laid eyes on her, it had already become something inevitable.

Casualties of war are an inevitability. Above all else, Madara cannot let this opportunity pass him by.

He plants the idea of ‘childhood friends’ in her mind from their very first meeting. It’s true that they’d met as children, but something as tenuous as that is absolutely nothing in the face of real connection. Not that any of it matters, Madara expects Anzu to remember a whole total of nothing. Human recollection, as he’s learnt over the years, is patchy at best and flatly fraudulent at worst.

Right now, he uses that to his advantage. If Madara continues to insist that they’d been the closest of friends, Anzu will subconsciously adjust her impressions to align accordingly. _Truly, what infallible unreliability._

And if some of that goodwill, however delicate, might have dissolved once he bursts into the 2A classroom and bodily hefts her over his shoulder, wellー it’s not like Madara to persist over what’s gone, anyway.

Instead, he leads the boys of Trickstar on a wild chase through the school, their precious producer in hand. Madara apologises to her, of course, gives her a hearty, “Sorry, soooorry! I hope you weren’t too uncomfortable, Anzu-san!” as he sets her gently down on the steps of the dojo.

Anzu wobbles unsteadily on her feet for a moment, brushing down her skirt, eyeing him warily as she does. Madara pats her shoulders and beams at her, then turns on his heel and flings open the dojo’s doors with a bang.

“Kuro-saaaaan!” He calls cheerily, “I’ve kidnapped Anzu-san and I’m here to play☆!”

There’s a length of silence. Kuro lifts his head slowly and narrows his eyes from where he’s squatting in the middle of the dojo. From the corner of his eye, Madara sees Anzu move shiftily towards the inside of the hall, so he gives her a light, encouraging pat on the back. At least, it’s what he thinks is light and encouraging. It’s probably not the best validation that she just gives him a bland look and proceeds to run pitter-patter straight towards Kuro.

“… Lil’ Miss?” Kuro asks as she approaches him, “Did Mikejima do something?”

“Of course!” Madara interrupts, striding in behind Anzu, “Didn’t you hear me before, Kuro-san? I’ve kidnapped her☆! And…”

“Mikejima—”

“—I _said_ , I’m here to play.”

In a flash, Kuro brings his arms up. The fist Madara’s thrown is caught solidly in Kuro’s stance and Madara can’t help but bark out a laugh.

“You’re just as quick as always, Kuro-san!” He chortles, “As expected of an ace ☆”

“Tch,” Kuro in turn clicks his tongue in distaste, “Childish bastard.”

“Hahaha!” They’ve fought before, and even in worryingly similar circumstances, but somehow the rush Madara feels sprinting through him never fails to be exhilarating. In all his years, he’s never quite managed to find someone with the combined raw ferocity and physical capability to face him on even ground, save for one Kiryu Kuro. And _maaaaybe_ Madara thought to allow himself some long-awaited stress relief by incorporating a match into the overall script of things, but—

“What are ya scheming now?” Kuro growls when Madara rolls out from his grasp.

“ _Oh_? Can’t Mama just come over to hang out every once in a while? I just returned from a loooong trip, y’know?!”

“Shut it. As if someone like you would have no motive here.”

“Hahaha! You wound me, Kuro-saaaaan! I already told you, didn’t I? I just want to play with the strong Kuro-san☆!”

“Ugh, ya sure are annoying…”

How long has it been since Madara’s been able to go all-out like this? He feels like some of the fire eating perpetually at his soul is pouring out from the tips of his fingers, leaving an icy relief to wash over him. It’s been contained so tightly for so long that allowing himself to go wild now is almost enough to make Madara cry in relief. Yet at the same time, the desire to win crawls up the back of his spine, leaving burning marks in its wake, and _god, I feel alive_.

At some point in their fight, a small commotion breaks out near the entrance of the dojo and Madara spares a milisecond’s look to see the two Trickstar boys hurry into the hall, but then Kuro’s knee aimed in the general area of his gut distracts him for long enough that when he next looks over, they’re already settling comfortably next to Anzu. _Really, what interesting children._ The samurai boy arrives noisily soon after, though, and Madara decides with no small amount of regret that it’s about time to move on.

He catches his chance when Kuro is distracted momentarily telling Souma to leave them be. It’s all Madara needs to make his kill.

Kuro, for all his strength and skill, is after all burdened by one simple failing: He is far too human.

“That’s why you can’t win against me☆” Madara laughs breathily. Beneath his grip, Kuro groans, arm locked painfully in place. “Say it, Kuro-san: ‘I yield’! It’s your defeat.”

Madara’s sure of it, too, but then Kuro astounds him by growling, a deep rumbling sound in his throat, and proceeding to lift Madara through sheer will of _strength_ , and the realisation that he _might actually lose_ sparks Madara’s nerves to life.

Almost on instinct, Madara snaps his head back and begins to catalogue potential vulnerabilities with fervent intention. It’s been such a long time since he’s last been backed so thoroughly into a corner that Madara almost, _almost_ , panics— _throat, hamstring, eye, take the chance to put some distance between us and regain my stance. Incapacitate him so he can’t make a comeback_ — but then he recalls abruptly his true purpose here and so—

“… Gah?!”

“I’ll throw your words back at ya. Say it, Mikejima: ‘I yield’,” Kuro says gruffly. Trapped beneath him, back aching from the impact of hitting the ground, Madara slaps a hand ineffectually on the dojo floor. “... Didn’t exactly train in these arts to use ‘em on an amateur,” Kuro continues, “and ‘s not my hobby to bully the weak.”

Funnily enough, that’s what gets Madara to give in. Gasping out a laugh, Madara relents easily to Kuro’s raw strength. As always, that man is astonishingly powerful.

“—so? What are you here for?” Kuro asks again once they’ve rested for a bit. He and Souma have obtained snacks from wherever it is that honorary housewives do and so the six of them are sitting in a loose circle on the dojo floor, with Anzu positioned securely between two of her Trickstar boys. Madara smiles at that, despite himself.

His short-lived attempt at jokingly answering have Kuro imprisoning him in a joint lock which, frankly, _does_ hurt, so Madara promptly gets to the point. “The specifics really haven’t been decideeeed!” he whines, squirming a bit in Kuro’s grip, “I’ve done jobs by gathering people to form a team with before, and sometimes things are really rough up until the last minute! That’s how I’ve been working as MaM!”

“Hm,” Kuro releases him with a grunt, probably more out of annoyance than any sort of sympathy. Madara takes this as a good sign, so he turns to Trickstar and initiates his usual taunting tactics in earnest, and then Kuro begins to look like he might just strangle Madara and be done with everything.

“Apparently, a certain group has been barking about revolution and all, but in the end they’ve just been swallowed into the system.” Madara says cheerfully.

“Huh?” Well, at least the _natural idol_ of Trickstar he’s heard so much about seems able to pick up on his fairly overt goading, “Hokke, isn’t he like, picking a fight with us?”

“… Destruction and revolution are two different things,” ‘Hokke’ —Hidaka Hokuto— says slowly. Madara studies him for a moment. He knows all about Hokuto, with his apparent innate talents and elite upbringing, but Madara’s monitored him for a bit along with the rest of Trickstar and still hasn’t quite been able to reconcile this serious, seemingly straitlaced boy with a direct disciple of that Hibiki Wataru.

 _Then again_ , Madara muses as he launches into things in earnest, he’s probably more eccentric than he first seems. _Peculiarity is practically a requirement for enrollment into this place, after all._

Madara waves a casual hand in the air. “You’ll be forgotten.” He declares sunnily, and as the expressions of his three targets grow ever darker, Madara’s grin gets wider and wider. “And the student council who still hold the right to power in this land will weave the coming history. See?”

Hokuto’s face is almost calamitous in its pique and Anzu is carefully still, but there’s a furrow in her brows and a quirk downwards in her lips, so Madara knows he’s got to her as well. But of the three, it is Akehoshi Subaru that looks most aggrieved.

There’s a threat burning in his eyes so sincere that Madara starts to worry he might _actually_ get jumped. More than that though, Subaru, usually so bright and lighthearted, is right now a molten night sky. He meets Madara’s look evenly, which is admittedly already more than can be said of most others Madara inflicts his methods on. And as Madara holds Subaru’s gaze, he finds with some revelation an unexpected ferocity in the chaos of stars that comprise that smouldering anger.

“Nothing’s changed,” Nonetheless, Madara continues cheerily, as if he hadn’t noticed the quickly souring mood, “Whether you guys existed or not… it doesn’t matter at all ☆”

“You—” Subaru begins, voice dark enough that Madara readies himself for another potential fight. Yet before that can happen, Kuro neatly puts an end to things by pointing out dryly, “Mikejima’s just trying to provoke you.”

Kuro proceeds to lay out Madara’s movements plainly, giving him an unamused stare all the while. Helplessly, Madara shrugs his shoulders in a show of defeat. It’s a solid three-for-three to Kuro today. Even if he hadn’t exactly planned to make these wins, Madara must be something short of top condition.

Subaru looks confused as Kuro explains things to him patiently, but eventually the tension gradually releases from all of their stances. Finally, by the time Subaru turns to look at Madara once more, his previous intense aggression is cleanly gone.

A cool disappointment settles itself in the bottom of Madara’s gut but he dismisses it gustily. His objectives have all been achieved here. There’ll be time to re-examine his evaluation of Trickstar’s backbone another time. For now, though, Madara leaves the others with a step lighter than usual and his victory tucked smartly in the palm of his hand.

* * *

> “… Mikejima-san?”
> 
> That voice, normally so boisterous and full, right now resembles gossamer polishes; it tears slightly in the middle. Delicate, fragile. Madara grits his teeth briefly but relaxes his features as he turns around to greet his visitor.
> 
> “Chiaki-san.”
> 
> “Mikejima-san.” Chiaki repeats hoarsely, his voice nearly a whisper, “… Is it true?”
> 
> Madara almost replies flippantly, but one look at the redness rimming Chiaki’s eyes holds his tongue. Instead, he hesitates briefly before simply saying, “Yes.”
> 
> To that, Chiaki replies with an equally simple question:
> 
> “Why?”
> 
> Madara can’t answer that. Chiaki watches him for a moment, and abruptly tenses up.
> 
> “… Is it because of me?” He asks, voice pitching at the tail, “I know Ryuseitai has been rough lately, but that’s just—”
> 
> “No,” Madara cuts in, “It’s got nothing to do with you, Chiaki-san.”
> 
> Chiaki falls silent for a moment. He seems to make up his mind about something before he asks his next question.
> 
> “Then, you’re afraid that you—”
> 
> “No.” Madara answers sharply. But that’s a lie, and they both know it. Chiaki looks caught-in-the-rain miserable, but he doesn’t push it. Instead, Madara watches as Chiaki’s fists clench, and here comes the third question:
> 
> “Have you told Kanata?”
> 
> Madara feels the tips of his mouth curve up at that despite himself. The Chiaki he’d met in what feels like an eternity ago— would that boy have been able to come this far? Madara casts a quick look down at his own empty hands, loosely hanging by his sides, and thinks about a timid, mild-mannered child from a past lifetime. And here, too, comes the next lie.
> 
> “Yep☆!”

* * *

It’s with a futile ache that Madara comes to his final understanding. Kanata stands before him painted all in vivid ocean blues, with Chiaki so naturally by his side that Madara almost imagines they’ve always been one soul in two bodies. He traces their form with his eyes, lingers ultimately on the point at which they come together. Warm hand held in warm hand.

As for Madara, he lays claim to the hue of their intersection, as if that alone will be enough to bind himself to them. Instead, he ends up a solus being, dressed both in their colours and not at all. The gods, buried eons beneath the earth, point rotten fingers and laugh their callous laughs. The cruel echo of their spite spear deep into Madara’s chest, but it’s okay. He’s been nursing this particular hurt for so long that the gnaw is nearly _habit_.

Rather, he’s startled one day to find that a festering uneasiness instead claws its way across fresh scars. The wound’s been his constant companion for years upon years, and when it begins to heal over at its corners, Madara can’t help but grieve a little. Had it been a choice, Madara would never have picked this hollowness over whatever had once held his heart.

It had been cradling that pain, after all, that Madara had first seen himself a member of Yumenosaki’s premier unit of heroes, the _shooting star_ Ryuseitai. The first time he had worn its uniform and sang its songs. The first ~~(only)~~ time he’d ever had a place by Kanata’s side.

It hadn’t mattered that Kanata was still distancing himself from the rest of the group then. Madara had heard rumors even before he’d applied, but actually being enrolled in the school gave him front-row seats to Yumenosaki’s steady march towards its own demise, and student individualism was the least of its worries.

Seeing as he’s already solidly villainized himself in the eyes of the one person he’d given everything for, Madara readily admits that a hateful little part of him had in fact relished Kanata’s detachment. Thinking that, even then, Kanata was still something special. Deluding himself that his connection to someone _that_ kind and good and pure must have made him something a little good too.

 _Mm_ … Madara stands now on the shores of a foreign sea, gazing out at waters that he doesn’t know, and wonders dimly if there are shooting stars falling tonight as well. _I was an immature brat back then too, huh._ Just another kid with no idea what to do with himself, playing around at something fundamentally greater.

Well, it’s not as if he’s changed all that much, but Madara likes to think that he’s at least grown enough to recognise his own irrationalities. Maybe there’d been a time when he couldn’t look at Chiaki without a bitter dash of jealousy gnawing at his throat, but… Madara did right by them in the end, didn’t he? He’d watched as the two of them, as if directed by fate, drew closer and closer, had seen Kanata emerging drop by drop from the celestial cage he’d long since outgrown, had tracked the tips of their fingers as they finally met no matter how much he had tried to draw Chiaki away. Uncaring destiny laughed in his face, and Madara finally realised his place in the reality of things.

> _“whatever did you want to be anyway?” the infinity of himself asks. madara looks only at his own hands, searching for an ocean of answers in the lines that his palms wear, and realises that there had only ever been one._

“How do you do it, Mikejima-san?” someone had asked him once, “You’re always strong and brave and so… _unscared_ of everything.”

Madara had laughed it off then with some joke about attitude, but the truth of it comes shooting right back when he’s all alone in his third country that week, quietly obeying the commands of the same people he’d thought himself so outstanding for rebelling against as a child, as a _real_ hero an ocean away straightforwardly, simply, _stupidly_ , charges headfirst into what Madara could never do. All this time, even until now, Madara has always been afraid. Of his family, of being hated, of the world, of the heavens, of _himself_ — Madara has always, always, always, _always_ , _Always_ ,

> _“I’VE NEVER BEEN A HERO!” he screams until the sound bleeds from his hoarse throat and yet, just as it has always been, no one is there to hear._

— been afraid.

* * *

“How did you form a solo unit anyway, Mama?” Arashi asks one day. They’re sitting under the shade of a large tree, observing as Adonis and Mitsuru run laps around the track. “I thought it was against the rules.”

“Hahaha!” Madara laughs, “It is! But Keito-san and I had a little negotiation, see.”

“Oh?” Arashi waggles their eyebrows teasingly, but when Madara just smiles and deigns not to engage them, they shrug and drop the topic. _Yep_ , Madara thinks with some satisfaction, _my kids really are good kids_.

Mitsuru comes running up to them after that, breathless but happy, with Adonis following relaxedly after, and the conversation ends there. But later that day as they’re finishing up for the day, Arashi asks almost tentatively, “Mama?”

“Hm?” Madara answers cheerfully. Arashi gives him a small smile.

“Don’t you ever get lonely?”

Madara blinks at him. Before he can reply, though, Arashi shakes their head. They must have seen something in Madara’s eyes, because they only give Madara a brighter smile and says, “Fufu. You don’t have to answer that. It’s okay ♪” Arashi winks, and the relief that grips Madara’s chest when they leaves is almost painful.

* * *

He returns home for the first time in half a year just when the sun begins to droop below the horizon. His mother opens the door. She casts one look at him, still dressed in the blue of Yumenosaki’s uniform, and wordlessly lets him in.

There is dinner for two on the table, half-finished. Madara’s father glances up at him when he comes in, but his mother returns to her food and there’s that interaction done and over with. Madara keeps a steady smile on his face and settles himself comfortably on the couch. The conversation resumes on the other side of the room, unconcerned with the new presence in its midst.

It’s only when he hears the sound of metal clinking against empty plates that Madara readies himself. Sure enough, his father begins talking soon after.

“So? What do you want?”

“Nothing,” Madara replies lightly. His gaze remains fixed on the dark television screen in front of him, “I just thought I hadn’t been back in a while.”

“Hm,” this time it’s his mother who speaks, “so you came running back? Just for that?”

“Mm.” The derision is clear on her voice, but Madara remains unfazed. The truth is that he’d been talking to his kids about nothing in particular until the subject of family came up, and it occurred to Madara that he hadn’t been home for some time. That in and of itself wouldn’t have moved him to visit, but a holiday was coming up soon, and Madara decided it was about time to return and check up on things. He’d be going around to the Shinkai estate and several of it establishments tomorrow, but that’s certainly not something his parents will be happy to hear. So Madara keeps his secrets and asks instead, “How have things been?”

“Fine,” his mother says after a moment. His father, apparently satisfied that his involvement unneeded if Madara isn’t here to request for something, has disappeared into the kitchen with the dinner plates. “You’re still going to that school of yours?”

“Yep,” Madara lowers his gaze finally from the blank screen facing him. “I’m a third-year now,” he continues lightly, “a senpai.”

“Oh? Finally at the top of the food chain, hm?” There’s a new quirk in his mother’s tone as she says this and for a brief moment, it almost feels as if he’s back to a time when things hadn’t been so strained between them. Madara allows himself to savour this moment for the fraction that it lasts.

“Well, don’t get kicked out now,” she says, “it’d be damn lame to fail at this stage.”

Madara laughs. She sure hadn’t approved of his decision to enroll in an _idol academy_ of all things, much less the fact that he’d taken their precious Kanata-sama along with him, but all disapproval aside, she’s also never enjoyed doing things halfway. After a moment, she comes around to sit next to him on the couch and turns the television on. There’s a careful space between them still, an invisible barrier to prevent their touching, but despite that… despite that, it’s alright. They sit, side-by-side on that couch, and allow that space to be filled by the chatter on the display, and it’s alright.

Two days later, as Madara prepares to leave, he pauses at the entrance-way, and musters up the strength to ask.

“How is she?” he says softly.

A stiff silence floods the space, then his mother sighs and says, “Better.”

The unspoken _now that you’ve been away_ hangs like knife blades in the air. Madara takes his cue to leave. The door swings shut on the image of his mother standing arms crossed in front of the doorway and his father watching them both some distance behind. Madara doesn’t cross that threshold again until another eight months later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • the scenes with kuro/anzu/trickstar/souma are from shinsengumi!
> 
> • anyway, some of my thoughts/hc on madara's family life comes out here. I didn't think they'd exactly have a good relationship, seeing as how madara's been demonized by their cult. but at the same time, madara's still clearly able to contact them and even ask for favours (see: aquarium). I imagine it's a very terse sort of relationship, whereby it's not as if his parents hate his guts, but at the same time they disapprove of most of his actions. his sister absolutely hates him though :(  
> • ryuseitai bits are very introspective and a little abstract in places, but I hope the general message comes across properly.  
> • also, I have a very extended hc on the exact difference between how madara and chiaki approached/treated kanata, and why their respective relationships with him ended up the way they did. but I also don't think that madara at this point even really Understands that yet (he just thinks that he does), so it's not something I can include here in any explicit manner unfortunately.  
> • pls share some of your own madara hcs god knows this fic is full to the brim with em I like to see how other people view mama :)


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